Bolo de bolsa

This bag (bolsa) is a cake (bolo). I wasn't the only one who had to get his nose one inch away from the sweetness in order to believe it. Someone else lifted the straps, chastising whoever had left their bag on the dessert table. The icing sugar handles stayed intact somehow.

The evening was totally random. The woman whose apartment I am renting, Helena, who has moved to central Mozambique but is in Maputo ahead of a holiday to Tenerife, is staying at a friend's. The friend's daughter had a birthday party at her mother's apartment. Helena invited me for 'dinner', which turned out to be a gathering of Kaluwa's (not the spirit) close friends and family to celebrate the passing years.

My presence among the circle of guests caused various confusion initially, but then everyone was welcoming. 'How do you know Kaluwa?' 'I don't - her mother's friend is my landlady and she invited me.' 'Oh.'

The bash included this Louis Vuitton bag cake and some hired dancers who performed the tango and salsa in the living room. They were very skilled at dancing in a confined space.

It was already late by the time Helena dropped me back at my (her) apartment, where I dug out all of the cold weather clothing I could muster, ready to plunge into the UK the next day.